fireworks.

My dad and I are going to see the fireworks display tonight. They start at 9:22 pm. This is exciting. I adore when something starts at, say, 11:05, instead of 11:00. I think it's why I like college. The odd times that the classes start please me for no apparent reason.

We haven't been to see the fireworks display in years, but it's always beautiful. I don't remember the last time I went, but I remember what we (the children) would do before the fireworks started. We would wander away from the adults and slide down the giant hill on homemade sled-type things made of cardboard boxes, we'd say bad words and then giggle as though we'd just done something incredibly taboo, and we'd roll in the grass, ignoring the itchies and the bugs, just being kids. And then we were called back when the fireworks were about to start, settle ourselves on a blanket or chair, and gaze up at the sky. Then those fireworks, those sky flowers, would start and we would stare, transfixed, not even noticing the deafening noise that came with them.

The end display would set off in a fiery blaze of red, white, blue, purple, green, yellow, orange, and colors I didn't know the name of at the time. They'd come up, just like that, from a place miles away, and burst into magnificent spectacles. When they were almost out, I remember being scared that the embers would fall on me and burn me. They never did, of course, but it still scared me. And then it was over and we went home and I'd fall asleep, sometimes with a friend who'd decided to stay over, us murmuring about the fireworks until sleep would take over and my dreams of the night sky and shooting stars would entertain me until morning.

It was like that for years, but we stopped going. Maybe I got too old for flying down hills on cardboard boxes and being scared of the embers that would never touch the ground. Or maybe I was too antisocial for my own good and refused to go, preferring to stay with whatever boyfriend I had at the time and watch them run away from those pitiful fireworks we'd buy at the tents that would pop up around town.

And now I don't have that boyfriend excuse and I want to see my sky flowers again. I want to wear my shirt that says "Give Peace A Chance" with an American flag on it and flare-legged pants, just to feel like a hippie, but maybe without all the LSD and pot. Maybe I'll remember that my country's not so bad, even if we are in the wrong hands right now. And I'll sing the Star Spangled Banner, just like I did in front of a gymnasium full of people before the state danceline championship, recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and try to remember what America is supposed to stand for, despite our cockyness and the fact that we're too nosy.

Happy 4th of July, everyone. Except the people who don't live in this country because I'm sure y'all don't care much at all. :P